


Untitled Sam/Dean Ficlets

by dreamlittleyo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Hijinks, Humor, M/M, Schmoop, Sibling Incest, Wincest - Freeform, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, Wordcount: Over 1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-11
Updated: 2011-04-11
Packaged: 2017-10-17 22:28:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/181955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of short, unrelated ficlets.  Mostly Sam/Dean, some Sam'n'Dean.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jamesinboots](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamesinboots/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam/Dean and a digital camera.

"Dude," says Dean, buried to his elbows in one of their duffles and feeling the stubborn itch of irritation. "Where the hell is the camera?"

"How should I know?" Sam's face is innocent, but Dean doesn't buy it. It's _too_ innocent, a practiced look, and Sam is good but not good enough to fool a fellow Winchester.

"Sam," he says, voice going quiet with what he hopes is enough warning to get his point across.

"God, Dean, what do you even need it for?" Yeah, Sam's definitely guilty, because that was _way_ too fast a transition from blank confusion to confrontation.

"I'll find it," says Dean, makes sure the challenge rings clear in his voice.

"We're missing the cord for it anyway," Sam mumbles, resolutely _not_ looking at Dean. "Can't get pictures off it."

"Whatever dude," Dean mutters, and refuses to kiss Sam on his way out the door. It's not petty. It's practical.

He fails in his search for two straight days, can't figure out where Sam goddamn hid the thing, and since when is Sam sneakier than _him_? Not fair, not cool, and he shouts in triumph when he finally finds it. Sam's not around to hear the yell, busy foraging for their daily dose of caffeine, which is why Dean got away with digging around in Sam's stuff long enough to locate the damn camera.

There's got to be a reason Sam was stashing it out of sight, so Dean's first order of business is to hit the power button and click through the pictures taking up space in the memory card.

He knows it the second he sees it, a soft startled "son of a bitch" gasping past his lips. It's a picture of him, _perfect_ blackmail material, and he honestly can't believe Sam would stoop this low just to gain the advantage in one of their stupid prank wars.

He's naked in the picture, curled in sleep on an anonymous bed, one arm draped haphazardly over the side. Can't place exactly when it was taken, because it could be any night in the past three months, any unguarded moment since they started this dangerous new _thing_ between them, and Dean can feel his pulse pounding in his ears with how pissed off he is.

First instinct is to go for the delete command, and that's just what he's aiming for when he hears his brother's voice beg him, "Don't."

It's a plea, quiet and desperate, and when the hell did Sam get back? Coffee sits on the table, door already closed and sun creeping in the window behind him. The look on his face is open. Beseeching. And Dean realizes this isn't anything like he thought.

He looks back down at the picture and sees it differently. It makes him blush this time, realizing it's not blackmail material at all. It's a whole lot more personal than that, meaningful in a way Dean's not quite ready to think about.

"Please," says Sam, and Dean has to look at him. Turns the camera off without deleting the photo, and he sees the visible slouch of relief in Sam's shoulders. No computer cord. Right.

Three months in and Dean realizes he's still been scared shitless, scared Sam's just playing his game, doesn't really want this from him. Three months in and Dean realizes he's an idiot. He sets the camera aside and stands. Doesn't spare a thought about the coffee or the afternoon sun.

Just Sam. Standing there like he's not sure what comes now, like he's maybe even ready to let Dean take a swing at him.

Kissing is a better idea. A beautiful idea, and Dean gets straight on that. Shoves himself right up into his brother's personal space, just so they're both clear on this. On the fact that they're okay. On the fact that both of them are on the same page, are needing this like goddamn _air_.

Sam's surprise doesn't stall him long. Dude always _was_ quick on the uptake, and Dean lets himself be directed to the bed. Smirks into the kiss as Sam lowers him to the mattress, all noble and gentlemanly, and lets him get away with the gentle touches and quiet reverence for a generous five whole minutes before sticking his hand down his brother's pants to hint at getting on with the heavy friction. They can take things slow later, plenty of other time for a slow, lazy fuck.

Sam laughs against his throat, point taken, and isn't particularly gentle when he yanks Dean's fly open. It's okay, doesn't matter, because Dean's in plenty of a hurry. That's all the farther they got with their clothes, neither shedding a single layer as they jack each other off in messy unison.

It's awkward and uncoordinated, a whole lot like the first time they did this, and Dean would be laughing his ass off if he weren't busy groaning against Sam's skin, coming hard and trying to keep his own grip steady, bring Sam over the edge with him.

Messy and sated and later, after they've lost enough of their clothes to get comfortable, Dean lets his brother scoop him close and hold tight.

"So. Any chance of convincing you to delete that photo?" Dean asks. Even though he doesn't _really_ mean it.

"Never," says Sam, and there's warm steel in his voice. Makes Dean glad he didn't plan on pressing the issue. Makes him hot all over just from the sound of it echoing in his ear.

"Just checking," he whispers.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam & Dean: Sam's cursed with puppy-dog ears and a tail. Dean finds this hilarious.

Dean hasn't stopped laughing for the past twenty minutes. Hasn't even stopped to breathe between guffaws, and Sam feels his ears twitch with annoyance. It's not goddamn funny. It could be _dangerous_ for all they know, and of course Dean refuses to take it seriously.

He waits for quiet to settle marginally back in, Dean's boisterous laughter softening to intermittent snickers and finally tapering off entirely.

"Are you done?" Sam asks, and instantly regrets it. Another five minutes wasted as his brother's shoulders shake, silent this time as he tries to hold it in. When Dean looks back up his expression is serious, but his eyes still glitter with mirth.

"It's a good look for you, Sammy."

"I know where you sleep."

"Yeah... but if you kill me I can't help you get rid of those." Dean raises his eyebrows, and the gesture encompasses the furry ears and fluffy tail. Growing naturally and completely attached, and Sam sort of wants to scream.

"Why do I feel like your heart's not going to be in it anyway?"

Somewhere behind them a small child yells about how _he_ wants a doggy costume, too, mother shushing him quickly and steering him away.

"Relax, Sammy. Just leave it to me. I know how to make the best of a bad situation."

"Yeah," says Sam, mouth going suddenly dry. "That's what I'm afraid of."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam/Dean: Lazing in a meadow, late spring, dogwoods in bloom.

It's almost summer. Almost, but not quite, and the air is crisp with the half-hearted threat of a chill once the sun sets. There are hours until then, and the sunshine is warm and lazy on Dean's skin.

Everything is blooming around them, daisies and dogwoods and the lilacs up the hill. Grass tickles at his back where his shirt rides up, but he doesn't so much as twitch. Doesn't want to wake Sam.

His brother is wrapped against his side, muttering in his dreams about molasses, rain and a porpoise named 'Fred'. Dean probably couldn't move if he wanted to, Sam's arms and hands holding him close and possessive even in sleep, and Dean's plenty okay with that. No need to whine about cuddling when Sam's not even awake to witness it, and he loves the warm solid reassurance of Sam's weight half pinning him to the ground, Sam's breath rising and falling against him, Sam's voice a nonsensical whisper in his ear.

They've got another seven hours before they hit the next town, no way they'll make it in at a decent hour if they don't get moving.

Dean still doesn't move. The sun is melting its way pleasantly into his bones, and sleep is right there on the periphery of everything if he'll just let it in. But he doesn't want to. He wants _this_. Wants to let Sam sleep and snuggle until he comes to on his own. He'll sit halfway up when he wakes, blinking and disoriented as the world seeps slowly in, and Dean will wait for him to come back. To look down and smile, kiss him 'good morning' even though it'll be halfway through sunset by then.

Dean wants this, and for once there's nothing in the world to keep him from having it.

He hums a little melody, an easy aimless tune, and closes his eyes. Stays awake listening to every calm beat of his brother's heart.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam/Dean: 'It's not that he's in love with his brother.'

There's no sudden moment of revelation; no shocked second of disbelief that should maybe come next. It's a gradual slide, a seeping in of unexpected truths so minute that when he wakes up and just _knows_ , it doesn't surprise him like it probably should.

It's not that he's in love with his brother. That's not what this is. But there's something more going on now. Something new. A bundle of conflicting impulses in his brain, and lately he doesn't know what to make of them.

"Stop thinking so hard," says Dean, and it's only then Sam realizes how far into his thoughts he's sunk. It takes him an extra few seconds to haul himself back to reality.

"Sorry," he says, and hopes Dean stays clueless.

They're a mile out from Tulsa, and there's not enough space in the car. The air is dry and heavy, and suddenly Sam can't ignore the fact that there's only a scant margin of two feet between them. For some reason it puts Dean too close.

"God, lighten up, Sammy," Dean says, and it makes Sam jump. Surprised again to find that his attention has shifted, and he barely tunes in as Dean continues, "Are you _trying_ to glare a hole through the dashboard? What's your _deal_ today, dude?"

"Nothing," says Sam. Knows without even looking that Dean doesn't believe him.

Apparently Dean is worried about him, because the next time Sam pulls free of his heavy thoughts, the car is parked outside a pub. A dive familiar in all its generic angles, and Sam follows his brother inside. This is probably a bad idea.

Dean disappears to the bar, and when he comes back it's with a whole pitcher of beer.

Definitely a bad idea.

They drink their way through it anyway, the whole pitcher, and then start on a second.

Sam can't help noticing when Dean gets friendlier. A hell of a lot friendlier than usual, and for once he's not hitting up the nearest set of shapely legs. It's Sam's personal space he seems interested in tonight, and if Sam didn't know better he'd think his brother was _trying_ to get him drunk. To take advantage of him or something.

He kinda wishes like hell it were true.

It's an awkward stumble some ten blocks or so to a motel. Any motel will do, really, because they had to leave the car in the parking lot. One bright, blurry Vacancy sign is the same as any other, and Sam leans heavily on the railing outside as Dean checks them in.

When the room turns out to only have one bed, Sam should probably be suspicious. But even though his head has stopped spinning, it still feels heavy; so instead of thinking about it he sits on the end of the bed and fights his shoes off of his feet. Chucks one aside, then the other, and catches a glimpse of Dean doing the same in his peripheral vision.

"That's more like it," says Dean, and the way he takes over the bed isn't goddamn fair. It's an easy sprawl, comfortable stretch, and when he takes his shirt off, god, Sam just wants to _lick_ him. But that's not just a _bad_ idea, that's _epic_ in its potential for disaster.

Except apparently the threat of disaster isn't enough to dissuade Sam when he's got this much liquor sloshing around in his head, because he crawls right up to Dean and licks a stripe from his brother's clavicle to his left ear. Tastes like sweat and skin.

"Huh," he says. Because he kind of wants to do it again.

"You done being a shy _chick_ now, dude?" Dean asks him, and Sam realizes maybe he should've been suspicious after all. His brother, master strategist, machinating the perfect opportunity for Sam to jump his bones.

"I guess so," says Sam.

And promptly takes advantage of the opportunity.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam/Dean: 'It's been years since the first time Dean looked at his brother and thought something he wasn't supposed to.'

It's been years since the first time Dean looked at his brother and thought something he wasn't supposed to. It was jolting; Sam's senior year, somewhere in the middle of soccer season. Dean remembers feeling sick with the revelation, and a hundred showers didn't help him feel clean.

He's had a lot of time to get used to it since then, and he's adapted. Figured out this is one of his lesser problems, and it doesn't matter, since nothing will ever come of it. He catches Sam looking back at him sometimes, and they get stuck like that, staring at each other. A spark of heat that doesn't belong until one or both of them is strong enough to look away.

'Incest' isn't a dirty word anymore. It's just a secret one, and if all he and Sam ever exchange are looks then so much the better. He may be resigned to his own inappropriate feelings, but that's not a road he ever plans on dragging his brother down.

Years don't change things, neither does total separation; and when Dean drags his brother out of a burning apartment he marvels. Because how can things be so much the same and so completely different all at once?

Hunting, searching for their father, watching the dreams tear his brother apart. Stuck on the sidelines as the dreams become visions and the yellow-eyed demon mocks them from the shadows.

It's a little bit inevitable by then, and he isn't all that surprised to snap awake in the middle of the night and find Sam's eyes locked on him through the darkness. Too close.

His throat feels dry, but it doesn't stop him saying, "Hey."

"Hey," says Sam, and kisses him. They go at it a long, delicious while; an easy slide from gentle exploration to frantic claiming and back again. Just kissing. There's no rush.

When Sam finally pulls away, it's momentary. Just enough to adjust his position on the bed and pull Dean against his side. They shift and fidget until they're both comfortable, and it's dangerously close to snuggling. But Dean's a big boy, he can deal with a little snuggling. Especially when it's Sam in his arms, Sam's chest beneath his cheek, Sam's heart beating steady in his ear.

Dean lets the silence settle around them and slips his hand down Sam's chest, leaves it rest on the slow rise and fall.

"What made you change your mind?" he finally asks.

"Dunno," says Sam, and Dean knows it's not true.

They lie there in comfortable silence, seconds expanding into quiet minutes, and Dean is content to count his brother's heartbeats. He figures that's it for tonight. Any second now one of them will nod off, the other moments behind, and they'll have tomorrow to figure out what comes next.

Sam surprises him by speaking into the silence, voice quiet as he murmurs, "Dream as if you'll live forever, live as if you'll die today."

"Sam, you sentimental dog." He can't help it, the grin is wide and instantaneous.

"Dean?"

"Yeah."

"Shut up and get naked."

Dean blinks in surprise, but hastens to oblige. Because it turns out ' _what comes next_ ' doesn't get to wait until morning, and Dean is more than content with that.


End file.
